


Alone

by miss_lady



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But John is all he needs, Im not too good with tags yet, M/M, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 03:48:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4813808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_lady/pseuds/miss_lady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John was always there, and Sherlock always expected him to be. And that was how it always would be, forever. Just Sherlock Holmes and John Watson against the world. But forever is a long time, and time has a way of changing things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic and really writing isn't my *strongest* suit, but I like writing so I write anyways. (I'm still not too sure about how to properly "layout" my writing, so my apologies in advance)

“Alone. Alone is what I have, alone protects me.”

 

What a lie that was. It was all just one big lie to himself, Sherlock thought, he’d been alone all his life until John Watson came along, and not one damn time had that ever protected him. Alone was a cold feeling, and in return left him cold, unfeeling, and thinking himself unable to know what it feels to not be alone. Somehow, inexplicably, John had changed that. John was different. Of course, Sherlock could not explain how he was different; he just was. Much like two plus two; you can’t explain how it equals four, but you know for sure that it does.  
Yes, John, John was most definitely different, the other half to Sherlock Holmes; the other half to one hell of a dynamic duo. John was always there, and Sherlock always expected him to be. And that was how it always would be, forever. Just Sherlock Holmes and John Watson against the world. But forever is a long time, and time has a way of changing things.

 

Sherlock first realized things were going to change when he came back after those two years, and as usual, always expected John to be there, just as he had left. But of course as Mycroft had warned, people move on. And Mycroft is always right.

Mary was nice. Everything John looked for in a woman; nice, funny, attractive, and a touch of dangerous, so it was really not surprise that John would’ve fallen head over heels in love with the woman. Which was fine, of course, Sherlock figured it’d still be like before, Mary wouldn’t change it; she’s just like every other girlfriend John has had.

 

Except this time, it didn’t feel that way. He could feel it when he stepped back in 221B for the first time since he was “alive” again. The cold, dusty, emptiness of the place. The loneliness. He stepped into the room, his shoes softly clicking on the cold wooden floors of the flat, his fingertips brushing the back of johns chair. This odd feeling of sentiment washed over him for a moment as he found himself pausing there, eyes fixed on johns empty chair. The flat door downstairs opened, and Sherlock whips his gaze towards the door, taking his hand off the chair and listened carefully. Mrs. Hudson, judging by the sound of it. Dull, obvious, he should’ve caught the sound of her walking pattern quicker. He sighs loudly into the silence and removes his hand before walking over to plop down on his own chair, staring directly across at where John was supposed to be, before closing his eyes and retreating to his mind palace.

It was hours later when he stirred from his palace when he realized that it was different; there was no John waiting across from him, typing away on his laptop, recording the time of their adventures together. Right, he didn’t live here anymore, remember? He had Mary now. And Sherlock managed to convince himself he was okay with that.

Marriage really did have a way of changing people. Mrs. Hudson was right, but Sherlock didn’t realize that it wasn't just John and Mary who it affected. But he did quickly learn that it did, as he stared among the wedding, John and Mary dancing together, everyone having such a lovely time with one another. He realized what this means, for two people to be married, a bond with someone that Sherlock couldn’t even begin to imagine the complexity of. It was something wonderful, something Sherlock knew that he couldn’t be a part of. John had his own life now, and Sherlock Holmes wasn’t a part of it anymore. And Sherlock, as much effort as it took, finally managed to be able to convince himself he was okay with that too.

Magnussen. He was the final proof that Sherlock needed to prove to himself exactly how much John did, and does, matter to him. It’s that time about that Sherlock realized he was willing to be shipped away to some fatal undercover MI6 job, just to ensure that John would always be safe, and happy. He couldn’t care much about anything else; it truly was his first and final vow, to always protect John and everything he loves, despite the measures it would take. Even if it meant killing a man. Even If it meant putting his life on the line. John Watson had saved him in every way possible, and now it was Sherlock’s turn to save him. Even if Sherlock continued to sink deeper and deeper into perpetual and agonizing loneliness.

It was quite frankly embarrassing, as his mind was happy to remind him, how he could depend so much on someone who doesn’t need him as much back. Moriarty was back, and he didn’t have to go on Mycroft’s fatal mission and die. What a shame, Sherlock mused in his head, lounging about as he did most of these days on the couch, hands clasped together under his chin as he did when he was thinking. John hadn’t been round lately, although he did drop by occasionally to ask if there was anything new about the whole Moriarty situation yet, or just to check in. John and Mary definitely weren’t as close as they used to be (probably because of the whole “lied-about-my-identity-and-put-a-bullet-through-your-best-friend” ordeal), but stayed together anyways because of their newly born daughter, and of course because of that reason John was busy 24/7. He was interrupted by the sounds of footsteps coming upstairs. John? No, of course not. Mycroft, obviously.

 

Mycroft stepped inside and looked upon the filthy flat, his eyes scanning the room before landing on Sherlock, and he shook his head and sighed, twirled his trademark umbrella a bit as he closed the flat door behind him, setting his umbrella against it and went to go sit on the coffee table in front of the couch Sherlock was currently laying on trying to ignore Mycroft’s presence. Mycroft takes another look at Sherlock, obviously reading him, and then shook his head again and tuts as he remarked,

“I see we’ve been neglecting food and sleep again, Sherlock.”

Sherlock opens his eyes and looks up at the blank ceiling, annoyance evident on his face, ignoring his brother’s comment completely. “Can I assume you came here for a reason other to patronize me.”

“Patronize you?” Mycroft repeated, raising his eyebrows. “Of course not, that would be petty and unprofessional, two of the things I generally strive not to be. No, I am here under pure concern you see, I haven’t heard anything from John lately, so I figured I’d have to check up on you myself.”

Sherlock scoffed. “You say it as though it is a chore.”

“You are sure making it out to be.” Mycroft said, his smile evident in his voice. In response Sherlock turned his gaze from the ceiling to throw a warning glare at him, but kept his mouth closed.

After realizing Sherlock wasn’t going to say anything further, Mycroft took another look around the room. “…Somehow, Sherlock, you have managed to make this place a completely wreck, or more so than it normally is…” Mycroft looked down to the coffee table besides him and picks up a more than half empty pack of cigarettes and continued talking. “Smoking? I thought we were over that, Sherlock, may I suppose we are back to our other bad habits as well?” Mycroft questioned, still observing the cigarette box, watching Sherlock out of the corner of his eye.

“No,” Sherlock replied bluntly, turning on his side, back facing Mycroft.

Mycroft frowned knowing full well that was a lie and stood up, walking over to the door and grabbing hiss umbrella. “I’ll be back to check on you later, brother mine, please try to refrain from submitting to any sort of-“ A pause. “-…recreational... substances while I am away.” And a moment’s later, Sherlock heard the door close and his brothers heavy footsteps descending down the staircase.

 

John was currently contently rocking back and forth in a rocking chair, holding a 3 month old baby girl, swaddled in pink blankets and her head resting against John’s chest, quietly falling asleep for her afternoon nap. John rubbed soft circles in the baby’s back, looking down upon her, thinking about how lucky he was. He still hadn’t fully accustomed to this more relaxed lifestyle, but with a baby, there’s not much else of a lifestyle besides that one, at least in the early years. He sighed and stood up slowly, holding the baby tightly to himself, going over to the crib and resting her in it, planting a kiss on her forehead, before sitting back down on the rocking chair. It had been a long day, at both the clinic and with his and Mary’s baby, and he was more than welcoming to a long night’s rest. He rested his head in his hand, closing his eyes, mind cleared of all thoughts, before the ring of their doorbell rang from downstairs.

“John?” Mary’s voice rang from downstairs, and John opened his eyes, snapped from his sleep, and evidently, so had the baby.

“John? Mycroft’s here to see you, It’s Mycroft.” Mary called, and the sounds of footsteps coming up the stairs were heard, before she poked her head into the room. John suddenly looked alarmed and he straightened out his jumper.

“What, did something happen to Sherlock?”

Mary bit her lip and shrugged her shoulders, before looking over to their wailing baby. “Sorry about that, I’ll get her.” Mary walks over to the crib and picks up the baby girl, shushing her.  
“I’m sure Sherlock’s fine, you saw him a couple weeks ago right?” Mary said calmly, as John stood up and softly kissed her on the lips. “Who knows, like I’ve said before, with Sherlock it’s always the unexpected.” John says wearily but with a smile and hustled down the stairs and opened the door.

Mycroft was standing on their doorstep in the rain in the rain, checking his watch, before looking up with a smile. “Hello John, I hope I’m not disturbing you?” John blinks, he wasn’t used to the man coming to see him this way, rather than sending a vehicle to retrieve John and take him to someplace of Mycroft’s choosing . “No uh, come in.” John said opening the door wider, stepping aside and gesturing for Mycroft to step inside.

“Did something happen to Sherlock?” Mycroft stepped inside and shook out his umbrella, setting it aside and taking off his coat, then soothing out the pleats in his posh suit he was wearing underneath.

“Not anything serious, no.” Mycroft said simply, sitting down on a couch in the living room as if he owned the place, and John sat down across from him. “Oh thank god.” John said relieved. ”But…you wouldn’t be here if there was nothing wrong.”

“Precisely,” Mycroft says with a slight smile.

“I just thought I’d stop by and ask, being in the neighborhood. When was the last time you’ve checked in on Sherlock?”

Oh, right. John had completely forgotten about him.

“Oh, er, maybe a few weeks ago?” John said, a little guilty. Mycroft cocked his head a bit, giving John the we-both-know-that’s-not-true look. “…Okay, maybe more like a month.” John sighed. “Guess I got a bit hung up with Mary and the baby, I guess I could check on him tomorrow…?” Mycroft sighed, and stood. “…He needs you more than you think, John.” John opens his mouth to respond, but Mycroft had already had his coat and umbrella, and left the house.

 

“Sherlock?” John calls out into the seemingly empty flat. The flat felt weird, and quiet, void of the noise of upstairs of Sherlock’s pacing or experiments or the lovely melancholy sound of his violin. It felt like it did after the fall, and John didn’t like it one bit. He began walking up the stairs before-

“Oh, John!”

Mrs. Hudson cries in relief, who happened to be walking down the stairs, probably just coming back from checking on Sherlock herself. “It’s so good to see you dear, how’s Mary? How’s the baby?” Mrs. Hudson asks with a smile, carrying an untouched meal in one hand (probably for Sherlock).

“Oh, hello Mrs. Hudson. Er, yeah they’re fine, it’s fine, everyone’s fine.” He smiles reassuringly and nods before taking a breath. “Everything is absolutely great, have you seen Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson nods and says wistfully, “Yeah, just up there, he’s really been in one of his foul moods lately, well, more so than usual if you know what I mean.” She chuckles a little. “Do you know what’s wrong with him?” Mrs. Hudson asks afterwards a bit worriedly, pointing towards the upstairs.

John shakes his head and looks past Mrs. Hudson towards the top of the stairs, “Um, no that’s actually…that’s actually why I’m here.” Mrs. Hudson nods her head. “Well you should really come around more John I think he gets a bit lonely without you.” She says, lowering her voice to a whisper before handing John the plate of food. “Since you’re going up there do you think you could give this to him? Its gone cold now but I just think he should eat something, it’s been ages as far as I know.” John takes it and nods with a small smile. “Will do, Mrs. Hudson.” She smiles and pats John on the shoulder “Thank you, love.” And with that she continues down the stairs and John finally is able to head up the stairs and opens the door to the main part of the flat.

The inside of the flat smelled like stale smoke and was a complete and utter wreck, obviously been neglect of any cleaning (as if Sherlock ever bothered to clean anyways), and things – experiments -were littered everywhere, as if someone had started them but then got bored, and never bothered to clean them up or finish them (which is likely to be exactly what Sherlock did).

Sherlock didn’t seem to be in the living room, and John found that once again his chair had been moved so Sherlock had a better view of the “kitchen”, and Sherlock was not in the kitchen either, although he rarely was unless preforming an experiment on the kitchen table. So John set his coat down on Sherlock’s chair and went back to Sherlock’s room, in which he knocked on the closed bedroom door with his free hand.

“Sherlock?” He calls, and in return gets no response. John signs and knocks again on the door. “Sherlock, I’m coming in.” John waits another moment before opening the bedroom door, stepping inside. Sherlock was lying on his bed, curled up and facing the opposite direction of the door. His hair was mussed, sticking to his forehead by sweat, his clothes and robe looked like they hadn’t been washed in ages, and looked far too big on the man. John’s mind immediately skipped to the conclusion of drugs, or Sherlock being sick, or both, and he set the meal down on the bedside table, and gently shook him, attempting to get him to respond. “Christ, Sherlock..”

“Mm.” Sherlock responded, slowly blinking his icy blue eyes open, and looking over at John, squinting in the light. “…John?” John sighed in relief. Okay, good, he wasn’t high (probably). But he did seem sick. “Yeah, Sherlock it’s me. You look bloody awful are you sick? If you were sick you should’ve texted me I-““Calm down, John, I’m fine.” Sherlock said with a hint of annoyance in his voice, and he put a hand to his head and sat up in the bed. “See? I’m Fine, I was just sleeping.” “Sleeping?” John said incredulous. “Sherlock you never sleep. You expect me to believe that?” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I thought you would be pleased, now did my brother send you here? He did didn’t he.” John laughed a bit and shook his head, sitting on Sherlock’s bedside. “No Sherlock believe it or not I came here because I wanted to. You’re my friend, remember?”

“Yes, right. Friend.” Sherlock muttered, laying back down. John shook his head and looked down at Sherlock, putting a hand to his forehead. “…You’re a bit warm, you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes John, fine…” John sighed and removed his hand.

“Well, you should hold up “sleeping” for a moment, how long has it been since you’ve eaten?” Sherlock raised and dropped his shoulders. “…Depends. What day is it?”  
John sighed. “It’s Monday afternoon.”  
Sherlock nods. “Mm, couple days maybe”

John sighs. “You’re not on a case, so eat something.”

“I am on a case.”

“No you’re not! If you were you wouldn’t be laying miserable on your bed who knows how long!” “Why are you here again?” Sherlock asks bitterly, ignoring what John had said, and John stood up off the bed, obviously having had enough. “…I don’t know to be honest, I don’t know why I bother trying.” John said in a low voice, and Sherlock turns his head to finally face John.

“Trying?” Sherlock snaps.

“You haven’t been here in weeks John! Weeks! and I’m sure that you didn’t even remember on your own that you were my friend, I’m sure my meddling know-it-all brother is the reason you’re here in the first place!” John blinks at him, obviously shocked, and Sherlock took a few breaths before turning his back on John, curling back up. There was a tense moment of silence, before John sighed, looking at the floor. “Jesus Sherlock… I didn’t know… I’m sorry.” John said guiltily. “I…just got wrapped up with the new baby and the clinic I guess things just got a little out of hand; I didn’t have time to be rushing about London, getting into danger, all of that.”

Sherlock didn’t respond, but he turned back around to face John, looking incredibly tired. “…John.” He said after a while. John looked at him to show he was listening. “It doesn’t matter about the crime solving, in the end it’s just an alternative way to getting high. It’s you. It’s always you. I need you.” Sherlock got quieter as he kept talking, and as john locked eyes with Sherlock he seemed to be almost on the verge of ...tears? John had never seen the man so incredibly vulnerable, no - human – before. John nods, and didn’t say anything more, and sat there on the edge of the bed quietly, and Sherlock turned his back on John again, at some point John started running his hand through Sherlock’s gorgeous but unruly curls, an action that calmed both of them down.

After some time passed, John stood up, and sighed, saying to Sherlock. “I’m going to go make us some dinner; I’ll be in the other room if you need me.” “Why would I need you.” Sherlock muttered, knowing full well he had every reason to need John Watson. “No reason at all.” John smiled, and he head off into the other room.

For a moment, everything seemed to go back to the way it used to be, before Mary and the baby, before the fall; and Sherlock and John could easily convince themselves that they were perfectly okay with that.


End file.
